Chapter 7 - The Final Transmission
Lieutenant Miller connected the recording equipment to the receiver, giving me a silent thumbs-up.
I dialed Bradley’s personal number.
The line rang once. Twice. Three times.
Click.
"Where the hell are you?!" Bradley’s voice roared through the speaker, breathless, furious, and frayed with panic. "Do you have any idea what you've done, you miserable cow?! I have three patrol cars looking for your carcass! If you went to the authorities, I swear to God—"
"Bradley," I said. My voice was small, shaking, pitched to sound broken, exhausted, and barely conscious. "I’m cold... Bradley, I can't walk anymore..."
Silence fell on the other end, followed by a sharp intake of breath.
"Where are you, Clara?" he demanded, his tone instantly shifting into that sickening, oily sweetness he used when he was setting the camera angle. "Tell me where you are, baby. Daddy will come get you. We'll take care of you. You don't need to be out in the cold."
"I’m... I’m near the old mill," I whimpered into the mic. "Behind the abandoned grain silos. My water... I think my water broke, Bradley. There’s blood. The baby isn't moving."
A cold, vicious laugh hissed through the receiver.
"Good," Bradley muttered under his breath, before raising his voice again. "Stay right there. Don't talk to anyone. Did you tell anyone who you were? Did you show anyone that phone you stole?"
"What phone?" I sobbed convincingly. "I don't have a phone... I used an old emergency box on the highway... Bradley, please, my stomach hurts so bad... the drugs your mother gave me... they're burning..."
"Shut up about the drugs!" he snapped, his voice echoing off the hardwood of the mansion foyer as he walked. "That was for the stream! You knew the rules! If you hadn't been so difficult, we wouldn't have had to tube you three times a day! Eleanor told you: you do what you're told, you give birth to the heir, and then we put you in a quiet facility where you can't embarrass the family! Now stay at the silos! I'm coming to pick you up. And if you move an inch, Clara, I won't bother with the hospital—I'll bury you right beside the river."
Beep.
The line disconnected.
Victoria Sterling took off her headphones, turned to the federal recording technician, and raised an eyebrow.
"Did you capture the admission of unlawful restraint, chemical poisoning, premeditated homicide, and conspiracy?"
The technician smiled. "Every single syllable. Authenticated, timestamped, and uploaded to the federal grand jury staging server."
Victoria stood up, buttoning her jacket, her eyes blazing with triumphant fire.
"Lieutenant Miller," she said.
May you like
"Ma'am?"
"Execute the warrants. Take the house. Take the mother. And take Bradley Blake down."